(Resumed) Solstice

[Grace]

When I awoke, the fighting had ceased. Had we won? Did the others survive? Emmett?

I pushed myself to my knees and surveyed the environs. I saw Patrick and Samael far to my flanks, alive with intact Spirits, but Emmett remained unaccounted for, along with the Demon.

Before anything else, I had to find Emmett. The Grimoire could wait. I picked myself up and made my way toward Patrick. Or rather, the intersection where he rested. I looked left, then right, under Æthervision to maximize my chances of-

Two? Three?! And one was dwindling. With my fingers locked into fists, I marched down, sadism lacing my blood. Someone's head is going to roll.

I looked down to the first body in line and-

What the fuck was Abraham Adams doing here? My Soul clad me in frosted armour and drew an icy razor when I retook control. No. I can't just kill him. While he most certainly tried to kill Emmett, the Demon and third Soul were more than enough for plausible deniability. Samael, too, come to think about it.

The unconscious Abraham Adams was an effigy to hail the wrath of Lord Fuckwad. He would descend nightmarishly upon the Colleges to exterminate anyone who messed with his son. My life would be forfeit. More importantly, so would Patrick's and Emmett's; they'd have no recourse. 

At least, that's what I told myself. Idiotic as it was, the idea that Emmett might have an answer to the ignoble tyrant's wrath terrified me far more.

I pressed on, ignoring him and-

Of Haven-Searing Course it was Emmett who had the jeopardised Soul! I assayed the figure to my right-

I didn't even need the face underneath that gaudy purple helmet. Scion Jackass used his weight as Nobility to convince Scion Arsehole that Emmett was an Etsy, and they ambushed him in duet after the Mission ate his reserves.

As a once-over, I flicked my Sight back toward the grease worm. Caution paid off: the partial plate held an Enchantment inscribed in soft-

"Is that-"
"Why you-"
Emmett's unconscious attempted murder of my Mother-

-silver. It was comprised of whatever unheard-of Magick Emmett had cast that day. I had a full week to ruminate over it all, and when I did, I fled my chair and clamoured at my idiocy.

Yangside Magick is white as a pearl. Pale silver does not correspond with any Element, Aspect, or Concept.

Yet here this piece was, Enchanted with a form of Magick that didn't exist.

I Clutched and Lapsed my Sight a few times to verify my findings. Correction: Pale silver corresponds to an unknown form of Magick. This was clearly happening at the Ætheric level, but there were only fifteen colours to choose from and that's not one of them.

I stilled my terror through measured breaths. I had to accept that my hands, or even my life, could be forfeit solely from touching this thing, but it must be done.

I trod to Scion Jule's unconscious self and mounted his back.

I took a slow breath and quietly hissed a Soulshout.

In Martial Artes and some schools of Meditation, a Soulshout is a tantric vocalisation blending Soul and Breath to centralise the Mind and fortify the Body. Even for a Dreamer, it sharpens the accompaniment effort, but for Magi, the effect is invaluable and thrums deep into Spellcasting.

With my fear soothed, I placed my hand on the vambrace and found straps with buckles to undo. Relief washed my Soul as the Enchantment stayed silent. A boon, since silver was used in many literary pieces to signify death.

Holding unflappable concentration, I wriggled his hand out of the gauntlet before finally lifting the helmet. Tossing it aside, I set the edge of my right pinky on the back of his throat. I inhaled with a forced resolve that I would have found natural two weeks ago. Was Emmett affecting me somehow?

No matter. I'd killed many in my life. Romeo was just another addition.

"Aa- Aaa- HAAAAA!" This Soulshout was shrill, betraying a foreign fright as a guillotine froze his neck in twain. Sure enough, his head did, in fact, roll.

Afterward, though, I convulsed, rolling off of him with my limbs, joints, head, and torso twitching in the throes of a weakness I'd outgrown long before touching puberty.

'Twas as if I'd somehow lost all my hard-earned experience cultivated since childhood.

[Patrick]

My muscles stiffened as sunlight entered my blurry eyes.

Groaning, I lifted my forehead as far as I could and flailed it atop the pointiest shard of gravel I could spot.

Warmth rushed through me, fatigue dissolving in the sweet release of pain. It was the single most valued technique Jacqueline had ever taught me. I treasured that simple technique more than even Ginseng Cannon, but I would carry that secret to the grave. I had a fierce image to uphold, after all.

Now that I was up, the vitalising shock faded, with my new posture to replace it. I touched my face, burn stings answering the touch of dried blood. Damn. I'll need that looked at when we get back. I threw my head back to check on-

Grace was missing.

I checked back forward. Emmett vanished as well.

Samael, however, was not only present but climbing back to standing. I reckoned I might as well notify him of the current situation and so strolled up to the so-called Squad Leader. "Hey, Samael."

Samael dusted off his robe and shot me a scowl. "'Squad Leader,' Peterson. You get the bitch?"

Hold up, what? I pushed away doubt from my voice. "I thought you did since it's not here anymore."

Samael stamped his foot down in anger. "Damn it! You're supposed to be good at putting down-" He drew a calming breath and lowered his eyes. "No, you have a point. It cast Transmutation Magick as easily as Sinclair getting us all killed. So if it's gone, it escaped, along with the fucking book." He kicked the road out of some sense of frustration. "Just beats all, doesn't it? We should be out there fighting those damned Etsies and here we are wasting time 'cause Emmett keeps fucking us all over!"

If Samael had said this two or three weeks ago, I'd have cheered him on. Now? Something in me wanted to break his teeth in. Only a part: finding Grace was infinitely more important.

A sigh ended his tirade. "Get Gardner and let's go. If you don't find her in ten, report back."

I raised my hand. "Wait. What about Emmett?"

He gestured slightly to his right, my left. "Not only did he get us caught in this Demon mess; he abandoned the mission to hang out with some guy setting up firewor-"

In a spoken syllable's span, I turned my back and sprinted. If Samael had tried that shite about anyone else I'd have listened. But this was Emmett. And not the Emmett who killed my brother. This Emmett exemplified the essence of masculinity: relentless, vigilant determination to crest the limits of Body and Mind, not once stepping down when someone threatened his people, no matter the cost to himself. The Emmett I saw today would have kicked that Adams kid's arse flat in a fight. Today's Emmett was a living, breathing challenge for me to forge new paths, overcome my shortcomings, and surpass my limits. 

This starting today: Screw you, Samael. Apprentices of Jade leave not kin nor kith for dead.

Not three paces in, a Magicked curtain of Wind checked my stopping distance, nearly eviscerating me. "Peterson! Who gave you permission to engage a Fire Magus we have no business with?"

"Have no business with?" I snapped a glare back to the Leader-In-Name-Only. "Fully half our Squad's missing, A hostile Magus is afoot, AND YOU WANT A PISSING CONTEST?!"

"Only a third, you braindea-" Samael stepped into a stance for half a second before relaxing to a snide hum's tune. "You know what? No skin off my back so long as you make it back by Enday." He took his leave right after.

I will melt his testicles someday.

I shooed the violent thought seeing as I had better shite to do. I kicked off and raced rightward down the street. I powered each step in a dead run past the weapons skewered into the floor, rooftops, and walls.

I arrested my sprint near a particularly demolished structure. That must be from the "fireworks." But no one's here. Did that bastard abduct them?!

I flicked Æthervision into my eyes and scanned around, looking for concentrations of Æther indicating Spirits. In a small hut next door, I found one person, but something felt wrong. I held my focus, and a good while later, I saw what I needed: slivers of Magick whose colour warmed on contact with his body. For some reason, every living person glowed some form of orange under Æthervision, so I couldn't get anything from that. But the shift in the Æther?

This was the Fire jerk.

I could go in and interrogate him about where my Squadmates were... if I were in any condition to fight, which I wasn't. He was also not the priority.

I darted my vision around to find neither Squadmate, so I set off, tearing through the abandoned streets of Annul Rhombus. I held my Sight steady, looking out for any deviation whatsoever from the blues, springs, and occasional browns glossing the Enchanted materials.

I always hated Physical Fitness before now, but being unable to use any other Magick while running showed me just how grateful I was for Ser Larsen's torture regiment.

Thirty to sixty minutes later, I encountered a large abandoned dormitory complex with staircases and rows of one-room housing units built into every wall. This building caught my eye not because of that but the two human-shaped orange auras the rooms contained.

One was laying down, and the other was curled up somewhere on the second floor, knees up to its chest, sometimes thrashing its head around.

Something in my gut told me the distressed humanoid shape was Grace, and I did not appreciate that.

I released Æthervision and kicked off a firebomb to propel me above the first and second floors, clear to where the third would be. Aware that I had just mortified her, I detonated myself toward her door but past it into a guardrail further out. It would put a heavy bruise on me, but a real attacker wouldn't do that, and Grace always did think of me as clumsy.

Here's a lesson: sometimes if you deliberately throw yourself into something, it hurts even more than if it were a complete accident. Especially if you're me and tend to put in more effort than the situation warrants.

I flew into the second-story guardrail a lot sooner than I anticipated; my shoulder took the full brunt of the collision. I laboured to pull in every breath and groaned painfully with every exhale. I dropped to my knees and clasped my injured right shoulder softly, shaking to distract myself and appear weak in the hopes Grace might not kill me. I wouldn't even blame her, either: as far as she could tell, some Fire prick, probably the one earlier, exploded into her shelter while she was crying her heart out over something.

And like a Devil, the expert assassin popped out of her door, soaked in a Watery globe. "You have one chance to scramble your dick away before I-"

I flashed her a smile and a wave.

The Water splashed the wooden deck indiscriminately. "What the- WHY WOULD YOU FUCK UP YOUR SHOULDER LIKE THAT?!"

"So you don't confuse me for the other Fire Magus I found near where we-"

"You didn't hurt him, did you?" Shock and disbelief coated the whole of her visage.

My thoughts stalled. Why was Grace worried about a random arsehole who more than likely tried to assassinate Emmett? "Um, no?"

"Thank Heavens."

"Why?"

"That's Scion Adams."

I swiveled my head back from whence I came. Abraham Adams, the Student who Lienne had to prevent from blowing up the testing obelisk, was here?!

Grace pressed her fingertips together. "Yeah. We'd be dead Magi walking if we killed him too. Could you imagine the severity of that fallout?"

My attention went back to the woman I, well, liked, but the words she used I most certainly did not. "'Too'? Grace..."

She started shivering frightfully again, scrambling a few steps away from me before stopping. "Look, j-just get inside. I, um, really don't wanna be out." Not a moment later, she skipped back into her room.

Not like you leave me much of a choice when you just run off like that. I took my time and followed her path in an amble. It was obvious she was distraught; I didn't want to further her fears.

I pushed the room door open, closing it behind me before traversing the lamplit room to a disheveled sobbing Grace on the bed. Standing at its foot, holding a comfortable distance, I lowered and calmed my voice. "Before I ask you about what you said outside, where's Emmett?"

Words squirmed past sniffles to reply to me. "One floor. Down. I took this. To get vision."

"Didn't account for whatever crisis you're going through, huh?"

She froze her eyes in a deathly gaze.

"I wouldn't be saying this if I didn't catch you by total surprise. What would you have done if it was Abe?"

"I'd have found a way. I'd have won. I'd improvise something, adapt to his Magick, and overcome the difference in-"

I committed to keeping my voice level and gentle. With Emmy or Jacqueline or anyone else, I wouldn't have bothered. I couldn't do that with Grace, not when she was so badly hurt. "No, Grace." I took three gentle steps around the bed to shave off some distance.

"I killed one Noble Scion; how in the Heavens and Havens do you get off saying I can't-"

I placed my hand gently on top of her head.

"Don't you fucking touch me."

I shook my head gently. "Cut it off if you hate it that much."

"You think I'm an idiot?"

"I Swear, on my Magick, that I will not retaliate in any way to this incident, be it present or future." One of the lessons Jacqueline drilled into me the hardest was the importance of intent and how Magick responds to it. A Sworn Oath was one of the most powerful affirmations of Will, but it carried the highest risk. If, at any time, you violated your Oath, whatever you Swore against would be forever lost to you, with Magick enforcing the penalty to immortalize the consequence.

Among the most potent collateral a Magus could offer was Spellcasting itself, and in this manner, I had just willingly sacrificed my hand to Grace if she wanted to take it.

Her eyes grew more reflective from the tears welling up. She was fighting valiantly to hold her front, but its time was nigh. "Do you have a hellsdamned clue about the gravitas of what you're toying with here?"

"The Grace Gardner I met at the Entrance Examination would have smitten me dead at the doorstep." I showed the most ridiculously childish smile I'd ever shown anyone. It was embarrassing. "As I said on Lovebite, you've changed."

Her voice cracked and threatened to scream. "Am I weaker now, is that it?! Or maybe you're vying for access to what's behind my lingerie!!"

I shivered and drew a breath, apologising severely to Emmett in the rotten back corners of my Mind. "I just saw you perform Dark Magick. Let me reemphasise: I witnessed you Aspect your Æther. You think you're weak?! You and fucking Emmy are the two most terrifying Magi I have ever

 met! Not counting inhuman war-Devils like Lienne or Aegis."

The screams came in again, this time accompanied by tears previously held back. "YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND! I could kill a dozen, a hundred, porcine molesters, slaver-wannabes, slavers in deed, murderers, rapists, nefarious 'teachers', without shedding a tear! And Romeo?! He- HE TRIED TO KILL US! And I couldn't- I- I-"

I hummed a low resonant hum, closing my eyes and letting myself exist in the space of this woman whom I have grown to respect and almost revere.

"Did... Emmett... weaken me?" The question rang of helplessness.

I shook my head. "No, Grace. You have this business of killing and strength all wrong."

A sole whimper signaled me to continue.

"The act of severing a Soul from its Body is brutal. It hurts. It makes you vomit, it-" Fuck. My own eyes were welling up. I tried to breathe through my nose, but only produced a wet scratching sound. "It leaves a mark. Even when it's warranted, justified, in defense of others, no less!" My legs wobbled, and some drunken voice in my skull told me the best option was to drop and cry. My legs collapsing underneath, I did.

A man was supposed to be strong, unyielding, and stoic in the face of Death Itself, and here I was bawling on the ground. "THAT'S WHY! EMMETT DIDN'T MAKE YOU WEAK! HE SAVED US, BOTH OF US, FROM BEING LITTLE MORE THAN DEMONS DEPLOYED TO KILL! I..."

The world outside deadened its noise. My thoughts dried away. Something was coming together, and it boded grim.

I threw away a formative childhood friendship. Even if Emmett was lying and trying to be a hero, why would he do that?! If anything, it would only draw Aegis' attention toward him and-

It didn't fucking matter whether Emmett lied. He tried to protect me at the cost of his own reputation. It was Bryce who lost his shite at Emmy for "making any sorts of funny jokes." If Aegis didn't stop him, he would have killed Emmy for the grand felony Trying To Protect Me.

And I, a braindead emotionally-retarded dumbfuck jackoff, blamed Emmett for Bryce's fuck-up.

"WHAT HAVE I DONE?!?!" In the most apoplectic outburst of emotion I had ever experienced, I pointed my left fist at myself and drew in the Æther for one final Ginseng Cannon to set it all right-

Deep blue Water-Attuned Æther draped onto me. A second later, so did Grace, embracing me from behind, the same Grace who tried to threaten me to take my hand off her head. "I'm really starting to hate how much you have in common."

I slowed the rolling of my tears and sniffled once or twice, soon to be joined by her own. "You kidding me?" I whined, "I'm just another Fire prick who bosses-"

"Shut your mouth. Right now."

I held my mouth open from the utter surprise and held still.

"Where's Samael?" asked Grace out of thin air.

"He... he left already. He told me to take no more than ten minutes to bring you back so we could depart and leave Emmy for dead."

The hug grew stronger. "It's been a lot more than ten minutes."

"Yeah, well, screw him."

"I'd rather you didn't."

I choked on my spit and laughed into a fit. "Really, Grace?!" I belted out when I could. "You?! YOU said that?!"

She joined my tortured chuckle with an amiable giggle, the two chording in queer harmony. "I suppose I did." She recomposed herself just as fluently, smiling a lovely simper. "Hey, Patrick?"

I coughed a few times, still recoiling from my outburst. "Y-yeah?"

"I don't think I want to leave tonight. It's still Friday so we have time. Wanna stay?" She glanced up toward the bed.

I nodded. "That's a good plan. We can rest, try to find the book just in case, and journey back to CVAC refreshed. I'll find a room for myself to provide coverage since Emmy's likely still-"

"Uh, Patrick?"

I looked back to Grace. Her cheeks were red, but that was likely from the crying earlier. "Something wrong?" I wasn't arrogant enough to assume she was infatuated with me.

Grace shook her head and measured her breathing with deliberation.

Whatever words she had inside her had to be vital, so I stuck around.

The fifth of her breaths ended in a sigh. "I think I'd like to share a bed with you."

I scrambled back and conked my head on a wall. "Whoa now hold on, Grace, that's WAY too fast and we both just got out of a major breakdown that's likely to come back again stronger! I'm in no condition to accept your love, and you're sure as fuck not ready to give it!"

"I'm not asking for sex, you dour pig; I'm asking for someone to sleep beside." Her words, against all sense, held no malice at all. She even had a mirthful tone to it. "I have a store of phobias and past traumas holding me back, and I need someone I can trust near me as I work through some of them. I want to sleep alongside you because that's the first step. It has to be someone I can trust, of which two people exist, and the other one's a reincarnation of my sister."

I repeated her words fourfold, fivefold, sevenfold, each time making less sense, not that it mattered because here she was, my Squadmate and hopeful friend, asking me to spend extended time with her in a highly vulnerable position. 

Contrary to what she thought of me, I made damn sure to respect the gravity of the situation and conduct myself with propriety. Before I accepted, I asked a simple yet severe question: "Why would you trust me with this?"

"You're a wonderful leader but an awfully dense friend." Grace climbed back onto the mattress. "You just poured your Soul out in the presence of a woman. Comprehending people's characters is our defining talent."

One mark of merit to Grace, then. "Fine, but nothing beyond kissing. There's a wild difference between what we want and what we think we want. We do this, we do this right, we do this slow. Copy?"

"Bold of you to assume I'd want to kiss you, but thank you for that."